counter to what olivia gatwood says,
no, this, really isn't a counter-piece,
more akin to,
the bewilderment of
     the fetish for long-nails
and long-hair...
    i dunno, is there are "tom-boy"
in me?
    me... me....
that used to mean something,
before the whole pronoun juggling act,
whereby: that whole
mind-******, drink a litre of whiskey
you'll feel great sort of mentality
coincided with, english, a language,
being more a circumstance of ideas,
current,
                    than an investment
in inheritance...
         manic pixie dream girl...
   i always thought that girls with
short hair were, uber-hot...
        i once had long hair...
do you even know...
   how diorientating long hair is,
for a guy,
when having ***?
                     it's like someone
ripped open a pillow that contained
a hello helen! count of crew
with each and every pfifff...
pfifff...
              it's like:
you want to ****,
and expect a ***** drenched pillow
to be left, "just in case",
under your farting 2nd ammendment
mouthpiece...
  never works...
manic, we can sort-of sort it out...
pixie?
          **** me,
a girl with a tom-boy haircut,
short, pixie, magical fairies and peter pan...
that **** is hot...
   or at least my one encounter
with said example...
     dreads on a russian girl?
like a ******* ukulele on a jamaican
reggae artist...
         or a leash on a cat...
great in a think-tank...
terrible on the batterfield,
with, the thought,
                      but no, tank.
so much easier during ***...
i am still bewildered by the monotheistic
fetish with long hair...
   imagine a fly floating around
in the jacuzzi of your champagne
flute...
      hair in your broth...
   ****'s off-putting!
       i'm not implying post-feminism
transgender skin-heads
akin to... what's that one from
the show billions?
   post-feminism transgender
skin-head...
           oh this **** can go on forever...
i've spotten three variations
of the moon, giggling into
the night...
       short hair on a girl is so *******:
oomph!
        it breaks all the narratives,
that comply with:
it's somehow "transgender"...
yeah, and i sacrificed my high-school
shame period on the altar
of jeff hanneman,
working from a slayer poster,
pinned up on my bedroom wall...
chewbaca to some,
   a mullet to others...
   then a side-combing,
fringe, and sometimes,
   with a french braid...
inverted *******,
    being asked by 14 year old girls
what shampoo i was using
in the playground...
i still don't understand how...
abrahamic religions
deem hair, esp. long hair,
to be the prized ****** focus of men...
i thought that hands
were the most ****** aspect of a woman,
given their petite structuring?
no?
       i have hands that
are sized, to be able to pick up
a basketball with one hand,
jerking off is sometimes intimidating,
should i ever be compensated
by ms and mrs petite...
how much of thought goes into
the theatre of ***? zero...
ergo?
   how much do you need to
cite word per se: i.e. god
into the whole theatre? zero...
        call for a "god"
during *******...
and you're only inciting the prevailing
presence of the opposite...
   if animals can shut their gobs
during *******,
   and being ingested / hunted /
whatever it is that they experience...
how can anyone allow ***
to be akin to a childhood experience,
of seeing a cow being towed into
a slaughterhouse...
with a premeditative suspicion
of being towed to slaughter?
ever see a cow being towed
into a slaughterhouse?
the, supposedly, "dumb" animal...
knows...
there's dumb,
and then there's a lapse in dumb,
pastured animals probably
fake "dumb"...
right up to the moment
of absolute certainty...
    when i revisit the origin
of my memory?
   there's no slaughterhouse,
only a supermarket instead...
but thank god for the theatre of memory.

really? there's a need to speak
during *******?
  perhaps after a reality shattering
revision,
akin to a *******,
who experienced her second
******,
    and was like: eh eh huh?
          and there was no,
fathomable regulations on
expected result from gained
experience with an average little richie...
and a bloated face,
long hair...
               and some esteem of
gut...
           i too came off surprised...
hence this wording...
much much later...
   manic pixie can keep her music
tastes...
   but when it comes to the hair...
for the foggiest of me...
don't know why hair,
is such a prized "commodity"
of women bound to the trinity
of religions...
      i always that hands were the broker
"item"...
            i keep comparing
my hands to the hands of women
whenever using the public
transit...
    ****... looking at "that",
and then looking at "this"?
my fourth knuckle is missing...
including either my index
or my pinky finger!

                          short-hair on girls...
******* eiffel tower hard-on...
someone was going to spread
the horseradish of lewd,
at some point,
in some place;
  might as well be me,
                      and on here...

i just imagine...
a manic pixie dream girl movement
in islam...
   so... once you find the right
kind of guy, and he's into short hair
on girls...
what the point of a niqab,
if you also find a guy,
who finds that womans' hands
are the most ****** aspect
of a woman,
   and that, hair...
  is a bit like finding
a fly, doing the jacuzzi...
in a champagne flute?

what does ensue?
giggles... into the night.